With God All Things Are Possible

I watched this show called This Time Next Year, and on it, there was a young man who was wheelchair bound after a car accident. His doctors told him he would never walk again, but he was determined to do it anyway. He confidently stated that with God the impossible is possible.

And you know what? After a year of therapy, he walked out on that stage! It inspired me so much that I had to share it. God’s word says that we can do all things throught Christ which gives us strength. No matter what you’re facing, even if the odds are stacked against you, with God it’s possible to overcome it.

Happy Sunday! ♥

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You Are Beautiful. You Are Loved.

I’ve already told you guys about my green smoothie fail earlier this week. But, even though I didn’t succeed completely, I did enjoy some of the process. Part of that process was meditation, and during one of my meditation sessions, I discovered a wonderful affirmation.

Something rose up in my spirit and said the following; “You are beautiful. You are loved.”

Isn’t that profound? Two simple phrases that resonated in the depths of my soul.

Many of you may not know that I’ve never thought of myself as pretty. I’ve always felt inferior to the natural beauty of all of my sisters. I considered myself the creative one, always ready to tell a funny story or lend a helping hand. But never even in the same league as them looks wise. Besides that, I had daddy issues to rival the best of them, so accepting that I am special and loved took a long time as well.

So you can see why the meditation mantra that swelled within me was so significant. The truth that I am beautiful in my own unique way, and that I am loved beyond measure were both statements that I needed to hear…that I needed to feel.

And maybe you do, too.

You are beautiful. You are loved.

Let that sink in. Let it penetrate your being and hold it in your heart.

Jen’s Secret #ShortStory #Series

I hope y’all are ready for another installment of our short story series. I need to think of a title for it, but for now let just call it “Jen’s Secret”. If you missed Part 1, you can check it out here. 

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My legs feel like lead. I struggle to pull myself from the deep sleep I so desperately needed. Surviving on four hours a night is catching up to me big time. A spring from the thin sleeper sofa mattress juts into my hip, but still, I don’t want to get up. What I wouldn’t give for five more minutes of peace.

I gingerly disentangle myself from Sienna, her moist skin sticking to mine as I slide my arm out from under her. Why do children sweat so much when they sleep? She sighs, and rolls over towards her sister, automatically seeking the comfort of another warm body. My youngest has always been needy. I’m pretty sure it’s my fault. Ever since she was born, things have been tough. Working odd jobs and keeping crazy hours doesn’t allow me to spend much time with her. I may not have a college degree, but I work with kids every day and I know how important it is for them to have a secure attachment and a routine.

I also know how important it is for them to have a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs.

Which is why I’m tiptoeing around my converted garage apartment, trying to get ready for my overnight shift at Wal-Mart, without waking up my kids. I stub my toe on the metal bar at the bottom of the bed and puff out a breath of air from the pain, stifling a groan. I’m inspecting my foot for damage when I hear a soft whisper, “Ma? You OK?”

Theresa’s face is illuminated by a halo of warmth from Mrs. Posada’s back porch light. She’s half sitting up, resting on her elbows, a look of concern etched across her pretty face. I reassure her, “I’m fine, baby. Go back to sleep.”

“I told you to get a night-light.”

She had, because she’s the kind of little girl who thinks far too much about practical things. “I know. I’ll pick one up from work tonight.”

“And some wood glue for my project?”

Shoot! I’d forgotten she was supposed to build one of the California missions. “Yeah, that too.”

“Thanks.”

“Sleep, missy.”

She settles back onto the bed, but a few seconds later, she announces, “Mrs. Stevenson said that a chronic lack of sleep increases a person’s risk for heart attack, stroke and a lot of other illnesses.”

I finish pulling a navy blue polo shirt over my head, my shoulders slumping. My daughter shouldn’t be concerning herself with things like that, and obviously her teacher, Mrs. Stevenson, doesn’t have kids of her own. Otherwise, she would know that a lack of sleep is part of the parental job description. “I’m healthy as a horse. Now, Go. To. Sleep.”

She’s silent, so that’s a start. I finish getting ready, then kiss each child on her forehead. Theresa’s only pretending to be asleep, so I pat her cheek, and she looks up at me solemnly. She’s so serious, this kid. I tap her nose, “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I promise I’ll sleep in. OK?”

“OK.”

I grab the monitor and set the alarm on my way out. Like clockwork, Mrs. Posada opens her back door, and takes the monitor. She hands me a travel mug of coffee, “You’re sure you don’t want to borrow my car?” she asks, her lilting accent rolling the R’s.

“No, thanks.” Just the thought of getting behind the wheel of a car makes my throat dry.

“You know I would at least give you a ride to the bus…but the girls.”

“I know, Mrs. Posada. You watching them is more than enough. Listen, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Be careful!”

I smile and head down the long drive way towards the street. If I time it just right, I’ll get to the bus stop moments before the bus arrives, decreasing the time I have to sit and wait. Hopefully, no one will harass me tonight, and I can get to work without incident.

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Even as I stock the shelves, I can’t stop thinking about Mrs. Posada’s offer to drive her car occasionally. It’s not the first time Mrs. Posada has made such an offer. She even said I could buy her deceased husband’s car, on time, when we first moved in. It would be so much safer than walking the streets at all hours of the night and early morning.  I don’t mind catching the bus in the daytime with the girls. By myself at night is another question. But, I can’t drive again. The thought of it is terrifying.

My pulse increases and my hands shake as I line up packages of Oreos. I can’t believe I even allowed myself to go there while I’m at work. I concentrate on filling the shelves in front of me, hoping to calm myself.

“Hey, you all right?”

I look over my shoulder at Jared, one of my co-workers. “I’m fine,” the lie slips out haltingly.

He glances at my trembling hands, then looks aways when he sees me noticing. “You need a minute?”

“Yeah.”

I expect him to walk away and leave me alone. Instead, he gestures for me to follow him. I glance at my cart full of go-backs, then at the aisle void of people. I guess I’ve got a minute to see what he’s up to.

I follow him to the warehouse area at the back of the store, past towers of metal shelves, boxes and pallets wrapped in shrink-wrap. He turns down a narrow passage way, which leads to a door. When he opens it, I see an office of sorts. There’s a beat up old desk, along with a smattering of chairs.

“You can chill here for a while. If anybody asks, I’ll tell them you’re picking up some stuff from the warehouse.”

I sink onto one of the chairs. “Thanks.”

“You cool?”

I nod, and put my hands under my thighs.

He exits without another word, and for the first time in months, I’m alone. Tears well up in my chest and leak from my eyes. I’m so tired. My chest and face heat from the effort of holding it all in. Finally, I give up and let it all out, my body hiccupping from the force of my sobs.

I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Should I turn myself in? What will happen to my kids if I do? I have to pull it together. That little boy is dead, and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back. There’s a mother out there. Someone like me, who loved that child with all her heart. And she’ll never hold him again. Never see him grow up. Never know what animal ran him over and kept driving…Never see justice served.

What kind of person does that? What kind of person am I?

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Whoa. Look, I’ma be honest and say even I didn’t see that coming! I know this installment may not seem all that inspirational, but stick with me and it will be. What do you think about Jen’s secret so far? Did you see that coming? Does it fit with what you thought of Jen and her story after the first installment of this short story series?

 

© Faith Simone 2018

 

 

 

OK, So I’m a Little Embarrassed…

I have a confession to make: I’m embarrassed that my second book hasn’t come out yet. I published my first book at the start of 2015 and here it is, 2018, and I haven’t published my second book. It doesn’t matter that I was cut open twice, in and out of the hospital, etc.  No matter how valid my excuses, embarrassment still lingers. According to my plans, I should have published two additional books and be writing the fourth.

Then I saw this quote and it put things in perspective. “It does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop.”

One thing I can say about me is that I’m not a quitter. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, has come to me easily. I’ve failed more times than I can count, but I never give up. And I think that’s the only thing that separates those who eventually succeed from those who never do.

So if you’re like me, and you feel embarrassed by your lack of progress towards your goals, creative or otherwise, just remember to keep plugging away at them. Rome wasn’t built in a day, my friends. As long as you’re still breathing, there’s hope!

How Dare You Speak to Me That Way! (Only I Can Do That)

I’m going to be a little vulnerable here today. If you’ve ever read my blog before, you’re probably wondering how much more vulnerable can a sista get? I’m really pushing that envelope, aren’t I? But I have this deep feeling that there are people out there that need to hear what I have to say. People who feel like they’re alone in their struggles. People who feel like no one understands. I’ve been there. It’s by the grace of God that I made it through. So I consider it my duty and my privilege to help someone else do the same.

Which is why I feel the need to discuss negative self-talk. In case you’ve never heard of the term, I’ll explain what it is. You know how you have a bad day, you get home and maybe you think, “I’ve had a horrible day. I’m going to bed.” And that’s exactly what you do. You know tomorrow is probably going to be better, the day’s behind you and you move on. Someone who has a problem with negative self-talk might think, “I can’t believe I spaced out like that during that meeting. And everyone knew it. Plus, Martha from accounting didn’t say good morning back to me. I’m such an idiot. What’s wrong with me?” And so it would go for hours and hours. That’s negative self-talk with a big dose of rumination to go along with it.

Nobody likes to admit they have weaknesses. Especially in a society like ours where confidence is prized and egos are celebrated. Some people can’t even fathom that anyone can be so overly critical of themselves that it becomes dogma. Something that haunts them and slowly erodes at their self-esteem. It get’s to the point where there’s no disputing it and what they think about themselves is the absolute truth. As you can probably tell by now, I’m highly familiar with the phenomenon.

I first began to struggle with negative self-talk when I was about 10-years-old. Despite its descriptive name, negative self-talk does not originate from within. The seeds of it are typically planted by someone in a position of authority, such as a parent, teacher, older sibling, etc., who is highly critical of an already extremely sensitive person. Eventually, the outside opinions and voices develop into an inner critic. It gets to the point where even when no one else is perpetuating the abuse, the victim does it for them.

I’m not explaining all of this to put you in a ‘woe is me’ frame of mind. I’m telling you this because getting to the root of things helps me figure out how to get over them. Or even better, through them. Once you understand that the anxiety and criticism you feel is not who you are, but simply an outcome of circumstances, you can let those feelings go, making space for what was truly meant to be a part of you in the first place.

This is a mantra that I say to myself now, “Make sure that the language with which you speak to yourself is reflective of your intent.” I decided to live my life with intention. For me, that means living out the goodness and mercy that I know God promised to me. He intends only good for my life, so that is what I accept. And I make sure that the way I speak to and about myself, reflects those intentions.

When you believe that you deserve goodness and kindness, you change the way that you think of yourself. It’s wasn’t easy, and trust me, it didn’t happen overnight. It took a major overhauling of my life to get to a place where I refused to be anyone’s victim anymore. But, I wouldn’t have it any other way because now my life, and the people who are in it, reflect my intent. And so does the way with which I speak to myself.

If you struggle with negative self-talk or low self-esteem, I really think you should look into this challenge. It involves a simple 30 day exercise to help you see the value in you. It’s a start in the right direction. I promise you won’t regret it!